


Teddy Bears, Climbing Frames and Cuddly Viruses

by Small_Hobbit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:30:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5322284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't Greg Lestrade's fault Sherlock and John had been accidentally de-aged, but he was the one left caring for them for the weekend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teddy Bears, Climbing Frames and Cuddly Viruses

Greg blamed Mycroft Holmes. Granted it wasn’t necessarily his fault Sherlock and John Watson had gone charging in where they shouldn’t have gone. But Mycroft should have foreseen the possibility and taken steps to mitigate the aftermath. Said aftermath being that he, DI Greg Lestrade, was suddenly responsible for two six year olds, until they returned to their correct adult state after the weekend. And it was only Friday afternoon.

Mrs Hudson had refused to assist, insisting firmly she was a landlady, not a nanny. After some persuasion she had agreed to cook for them, but only because Mycroft had pointed out it was her best opportunity to get some nutritional food into Sherlock. She said she would do the cooking, but was in no way being responsible for making them eat it. True to her word she had provided cottage pie with peas and baby carrots. As expected Sherlock had refused to eat his vegetables until Greg had said there would be no jelly and ice cream for him. Even then it had been touch and go and it was only suggesting John could have Sherlock’s jelly as well as his own which provided the desired objective.

Fortunately for Greg, small boys have to go to bed early. So having supervised teeth cleaning (Mycroft had provided suitable supplies for small boys – care of, for the weekend) and encouraged them to put their pyjamas on, he was looking forward to sitting down, grabbing a beer and watching the television. There had been a brief moment when Sherlock had deliberately put the top of his pirate pyjamas on back to front, but since Greg had said he wasn’t bothered which way round he wore it, he saw little point in looking silly just for the sake of it and reversed it.

Greg had just found a programme which was suitable for sleeping through when he became aware of quiet snivelling coming from the bedroom. (Mycroft’s assistants had put a spare bed in Sherlock’s room so Greg could use John’s. The older Holmes seemed quite prepared to provide every assistance except for actual babysitting.) Greg went into the room to find John furiously looking in his bed, under the pillow and then under the bed.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m looking for a teddy bear. I can’t sleep without one.”

“Okay. I’ll find you one. Just sit quietly in bed while I do.”

“Pathetic.” Greg turned to see Sherlock reading a chemistry text book, running his finger along under the words. “But if John’s getting a teddy I want one too.”

“Okay. Okay.”

Greg left the bedroom and phoned Mycroft. “We need two teddy bears. I don’t care how you get them, but I need them now.”

He went back into the bedroom to find a slightly tear-stained John huddled up in his bed.

“You’ll have a teddy bear soon. Do you want me to tell you a story until it comes?”

“Boring!”

“Yes please.”

“Once upon a time there was a brave knight...”

Quarter of an hour later he heard footsteps coming up to the flat. Abandoning the tale of the green dragon, the red dragon, the blue dragon and the green dragon, yes alright Sherlock we’ve already got a green dragon, this is a dark green dragon, I thought you weren’t listening ... Greg let Anthea in.

She gave him a bag containing two bears. Greg gave the first to John who took it gratefully, lay down and cuddled it tightly, shutting his eyes. Sherlock took the second bear, muttered ‘thank you’ in response to the glare he received, and placed it pointedly in the corner of the bed.

“Mycroft send this for you,” Anthea said to Sherlock. “It’s a special drink, but he didn’t think you’d want it because it’s got a funny taste.”

She handed it over and Sherlock promptly drank it all down. He lay down and when he thought no-one was looking grabbed the teddy. Within thirty seconds he too was asleep.

Greg and Anthea tiptoed out of the room. “What was that?” he asked.

“A sleeping draft, specially prepared. It should last until tomorrow morning. Mycroft thought you might find it useful.”

“Did he say it had a funny taste?”

“No, he said to tell Sherlock not to argue and just drink it. I thought we’d have more success this way.”

Greg laughed.

“Oh, and Inspector,” she added, “I suggest you get an early night too. I have a feeling you may need it.”

~~~~~~~

Breakfast the following morning passed as peacefully as Greg would have expected. He gave both boys a bowl of cereal and Sherlock listened intently, adding extra cereal and then declaring it did not go “snap, crackle, pop” as the packet claimed it would. Greg made himself a third cup of coffee and toast for everyone and attempted to ignore the complaints. He realised Sherlock had gone quiet and fearing the worst turned round. John had obviously tired of Sherlock’s comments too and had solved the problem by eating all the cereal.

Greg gave the boys the toast and told them to eat nicely whilst he went to phone Mycroft. The older Holmes assured him Scotland Yard were not expecting him at work and wished him a good day before ringing off rapidly. On Greg’s return to the kitchen he discovered Sherlock conducting an experiment to see whether it was in fact true toast always landed butter side down.

Greg told the boys to put their shoes on as they were going to the park.

Almost immediately he heard: “You’re stupid. You can’t tie laces.”

“I’m not stupid. I can tie them.”

“Prove it.”

“Alright, give me your shoe.”

Greg went to see what was happening and discovered each child wearing one laced trainer (correctly tied) and one velcroed trainer.

“You are not going out like that!” he said.

“But ...”

“No buts. Put your own shoes on and we’ll go out.”

Later Greg was going to wonder why he ever thought a morning in the park would go smoothly. They found the playground and whilst John seemed happy playing on the climbing frame Sherlock was intent on treating every bit of equipment as a challenge course and had to be watched constantly. Which would have been fine if John hadn’t overreached and fallen off. Greg hurried over to comfort the little boy who had received a nasty graze on his knee. Of course at that point Sherlock had decided to try out the centrifugal forces on the roundabout and had discovered they didn’t work when someone stopped it. Since both boys were now bloodied Greg decided to head back to Baker Street, but not before he’d heard a couple of grandmothers complain about fathers having no control over their children.

“I am not their father, I’m their ... um... godfather,” he stuttered.

He grabbed a child in each hand and set off at a rapid pace, practically dragging the boys behind him. “And don’t complain, it’s entirely your own faults.”

Arriving back at Baker Street he told them to sit quietly whilst he made himself a much needed mug of coffee. Having done so he took a couple of deep breaths before going to deal with the injuries. It turned out he needn’t have bothered. As an adult John Watson kept a cupboard well-provided with first aid supplies and it hadn’t taken long for Sherlock to climb on a chair to reach down the items needed so John could patch both of them up. For whatever reason John had retained sufficient medical knowledge in his child state to ensure the wounds were correctly cleaned and plasters (with smiley faces) were applied.

The next hurdle was going to be lunch, but in fact this wasn’t too bad. Mrs Hudson provided sausage, mashed potato and baked beans. John ate all his up and Greg, who was feeling hungry, did the same. Sherlock was inclined to turn his nose up at the food, but when John asked if he could have Sherlock’s sausages since he didn’t want them, Sherlock decided he would eat them after all.

After lunch Greg decreed they were going to a museum. He had found an exhibition which he’d heard good reports about from some of his officers who had taken their own children. There was a warning some of the exhibits were slightly gruesome, but he’d been told the kids loved them, and he didn’t see either Sherlock or John, even in their reduced state, being squeamish. When he’d checked online earlier the exhibition had been fully booked for the day, but a quick phone call had resulted in a text from Anthea saying there would be tickets available for him to collect.

As they headed down the stairs after lunch, Greg was not looking forward to the tube journey, so he was relieved to see a sleek black car waiting for them as they emerged from 221. Anthea stepped out of the car and had the boys belted up in the back seat before either had a chance to comment. She indicated to Greg he should sit in the front passenger seat.

“What about you?” Greg asked. “Are you coming too?”

“Oh no,” Anthea said with a smile, “I’m just here to facilitate your journey. We’ll meet you outside the museum afterwards at half past four. I’m sure you will find that quite sufficient time.”

On entering the exhibition Sherlock had initially deemed it to be boring, but it wasn’t long before he was looking at the items on show and explaining to John why they were irrelevant to the overall theme. One of the guides came over and began to tell Sherlock he was mistaken, using simple words in an attempt to be understood by a small boy. Greg caught the glint in Sherlock’s eye and thought he should intervene, but the guide was so condescending he decided to wait for Sherlock’s response. It wasn’t long in coming. The guide’s relationship failures were described in the clear piping tones of a six year old. When Sherlock paused to take a breath, Greg took the opportunity to grab both boys and hustle them into the next gallery.

They took their time working their way through the exhibition, before heading towards the gift shop. In retrospect this had probably not been a good idea, but Greg had the credit card Anthea had passed to him when she’d met them early and decided it was only right and proper Mycroft should contribute. Greg therefore told Sherlock and John they could each choose a present to take home. Sherlock, unsurprisingly, appeared with a large chemistry set under one arm and a crystal laboratory under the other. When Greg said Sherlock should decide between the two, Sherlock looked mutinous and Greg gave in, making a mental note to let Anthea know what they’d bought.

Greg had hoped John would choose something with rather less destructive potential. He was disappointed, John presenting him with a volcano making kit. On learning Sherlock was allowed two presents John promptly disappeared to return clutching a selection of soft cuddly virus toys.

Greg took the items to the counter to pay. The assistant took a long look at Greg and said, “You do understand some of these items are only suitable for children of ten years and upwards?”

“Oh yes,” he replied. “It’s okay. I don’t think the attraction will last for very long.”

On their departure from the museum they were greeted by Anthea who presented Greg with a fire extinguisher and some oven gloves. She also gave him a DVD which he felt the shop assistant would definitely not approve of, but which would keep Sherlock and John entertained until bed time. In addition there was some more sleeping draught for Sherlock, this time in such a hideous colour it would be irresistible to him.

The DVD proved suitably diverting and by the end of it both Sherlock and John were drooping. Greg took advantage of their semi-somnambulant state hurrying them into bed and getting Sherlock to drink the revoltingly coloured liquid with minimal protest. John settled down quickly, hugging his teddy and surrounded by the cuddly viruses.

It was as well Greg had gone to bed early, because he was woken before seven the following morning by two small boys crawling under his bed. Greg was confused at first, but then remembered he’d put the science kits under there to prevent any two a.m. experiments being carried out unsupervised. He groaned and started to get up, treading on Sherlock’s legs in the process. There was a squeal and Sherlock and John both wriggled out from under the bed, John waving a couple of very dusty socks in triumph.

“See,” John said to Sherlock, “I told you we’d find lots of things under there.”

He was about to disappear again in search of further treasures, when Greg grabbed him by the neck of his pyjamas.

“Go and get dressed, the two of you,” Greg said. “We’ll have breakfast and then you can do some experiments.”

Whooping they rushed back down the stairs, John hitting Sherlock over the head with the dusty socks as they went.

After breakfast, which Greg span out as long as possible, by eating very slowly and insisting he had a second cup of coffee, the kitchen table was cleared and Sherlock and John began their experiments. It wasn’t long before the table was covered in a variety of brightly coloured liquids, one of which was emitting a rather malodorous smell.

Suddenly John said, “I’ve got a headache. I’m going to bed.”

He trotted out of the kitchen towards Sherlock’s bedroom. Greg was torn between going after him to make sure he was all right and supervising Sherlock who appeared to be combining two experiments into one.

Greg hit the speed dial on his phone. “John’s not feeling well. I need help NOW!”

At that moment there was a flash of light, a loud bang and a rather smaller “Oops!”

Fortunately the fire blanket which Greg had ensured was to hand was sufficient to put out the small fire.

“Right!” Greg said. “John’s not feeling well and I need to go and check on him. I can’t leave you here on your own so you’ll have to come with me.”

Greg had been expecting all sorts of resistance and was taken aback by Sherlock replying, “Yes. I’m going to bed too.”

The two of them went to Sherlock’s room and while Greg checked on John, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully, Sherlock climbed into his own bed. Turning to look at Sherlock, Greg saw he was also fast asleep.

There was a knock on the door and Greg went to answer it. He let in Anthea, who, unsurprisingly, was furiously texting on her phone, followed by Mycroft, who was looking, very surprisingly, flustered.

“This has all happened much quicker than we expected,” Mycroft explained. “Our experts are on their way over now, but they had believed they had more time to analyse the condition.”

“No-one allowed for the higher metabolic rate of a child compared to an adult,” Anthea commented drily.

Greg was starting to feel alarmed, when they heard a groan from Sherlock’s room, followed by John’s voice (which had resumed its normal deeper tone) saying “Wake up, you bastard, and go and get me some clothes.”

There was the sound of various gentle thuds before Sherlock replied, “Okay, you can stop throwing viruses at me. Lestrade, I assume you’re still there. John needs some clothes – he’s outgrown his Superman t-shirt.”

With a chuckle Greg headed upstairs to find John some clothes. He heard the bedroom door open and then John swearing.

“Mycroft, get out!   The whole weekend has been sufficiently embarrassing without your presence here. It’s bad enough having Greg making sure I’ve cleaned my teeth properly. I don’t need you looking down at me while I cover my nakedness with a Thomas the Tank Engine duvet.”

“I just wanted to find out how much you remembered.”

“Everything. Every bloody detail. Now get out!”

Greg heard another soft thud and then the door shut again. When he came back down with John’s clothes he saw Mycroft with his back to the room staring pointedly out of the window.

Anthea was holding John’s teddy and grinning. She looked at Greg and said, “It appears John threw his teddy out of the pram!”

 


End file.
